


Yellow

by takidaka



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Surprises, Travel, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 06:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takidaka/pseuds/takidaka
Summary: A collection of the little fluffy tales of our favorite boys. Not regularly updated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! I am once again back with a Carry On fic--however, this is more of a collection of little one-shots that it is a series. I don't regularly update this fic at the moment, so I hope you don't get too attached! However, the more feedback I receive, the more likely I'll be inclined to continue. . . ;)  
> Regardless, here you are. One of my favorite things about this fic is that I've inserted little links into the storyline for you to enjoy some accompaniment I've included. While you're definitely not required to do so to enjoy the fic, I hope you might consider it! :)  
> Either way. . . Enjoy!!!

\- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - .-

_“… Yellow.”_

_“Yep.”_

_“You’re serious?”_

_“Completely.”_

\- . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . - . -

It was the middle of January, and Baz was chomping at the bit to leave. 

“Simon, just pull on a jumper and let’s get going. We’re late as it is,” Baz said. He was waiting in the doorway of the apartment, looking anxiously between his watch and the bumbling boy who was rummaging around in the hall closet. Simon had been digging around in there for the past ten minutes looking for a coat but hadn’t been able to find one so far. 

“I can’t find anything that’s clean–oh, Morgana, what’s even _on_ that? Peanut butter? It smells–Ugh.”

_“Simon–”_

“Just give me a minute, Baz, I’ll find one– _a-ha!”_

He tore a bundle of fabric from between dozens of unpacked boxes, wrinkled suitcases, and what Baz was pretty sure were garbage bags of dirty clothes Simon had forgotten to wash after wearing. Most of it toppled out of the closet, too. But that didn’t matter to the fair-headed boy at that moment; the jacket was light yellow, like lemon squares, and he grinned brightly as he turned around and showed it to his boyfriend. 

As he shook his midnight head, Baz lead Simon out the door, turning back to talk to him as he locked the door. “You’re _really_ wearing that to my parent’s house? In front of my _entire_ family?”

“You’re _really_ making fun of me when you just bought that bubblegum pink pair of Converse the other day?” Simon retorted. He followed the Baz to the car, thumping down into the passenger seat of the Jaguar as he pulled the article over his head. The stiff collar got stuck over his rosy nose and he grunted as he pulled it free. 

“Hey,” Baz warned. The keys made a dinging noise in the ignition as the vampire buckled his seatbelt. “Those shoes are lovely, thank you. And at least I don’t buy clothing simply because it matches my favorite foods.”

Simon shrugged. “Yellow is good. It’s happy.”

He looked over at Baz, who was hardly restraining a smile despite himself.

“Come on,” Simon said teasingly. “You think I’m cute.”

“You are cute, Simon,” Baz agreed, putting the car in shift and backing out of the driveway. “But you don’t have to wear a bright yellow hoodie to prove it.“ 

"But you like pastels! You wear them all the time!” Simon argued. The more he moved the fabric around the angles of his torso, the more he realized the jacket smelled musty, but nothing anybody wouldn’t expect from a college student. “You know, you’d look good in this color.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m seriously doubtful.”

Simon shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

Baz ignored him and turned on the radio. He’d left it on the classical station on the drive back from school the day before, and the music resumed with a light [Debussy piece.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXw-MMn11is) Simon recognized it; Baz played it fairly often, usually when he was taking a study break. And Simon could already see him softening into the sounds of the piece as they drove: his taut shoulders reclining, his terse knuckles having mercy on the steering wheel, his jaw relaxing around the corners of his mouth. 

It was irresistible. Before he realized he was doing it, Simon found himself leaning over to kiss the edge of Baz’s sharp chin. (He always wondered if he could cut his lips open on it. Nobody could say he hadn’t tried.) Then he found his hands combing strands of black hair behind his boyfriend’s ears, with little curls frizzing up at his temples. He kissed those, too.

“Simon, you’ve _got_ to stop doing that. I’m driving–”

“Am I distracting you?”

 _“Yes.”_ Baz made an expression of exasperation—a diluted version of the one Simon had seen often when they stayed up late doing things other than sleeping. “Unless you want me to wreck this car, you need to _stop.”_

Simon laughed to himself and pressed another hard kiss into Baz’s chin. “Wreck it if you want.”

That, along with the warmth of Simon’s skin, as well as the mildly-gross-but-endearing staleness of his stupid yellow jacket made Baz feel like driving the car into a wall, if it meant he would get to stop and let Simon do his bidding afterward. Being around that sunshine boy always did, though. And he really did need his car. So he reluctantly mustered up some willpower, sighed loudly, and pushed Simon away.

“Fine,” Simon finally said when Baz had forced him too far to reach with his mouth. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. No more kisses, then.”

“Thank you.”

As he turned onto the highway, the vampire quietly batted his eyes at that. Though Simon didn’t address him with a nickname much—mostly because Baz incessantly nagged him when he tried—the black-haired boy really enjoyed that particular one on occasion. It wasn’t too cheesy, nor overly formal. And it made him feel even hungrier in the pit of his hollow stomach; it didn’t help when Simon reached over, took the free hand he wasn’t using to drive, and wound their fingers together.

 _Blast it,_ Baz thought, trying to pretend like his hand didn’t feel like it was about to flutter off into the sky. _I’m going to send this car to the bloody moon._

As they drove on, reaching the beginnings of the forest, they listened to the lively tune of a [Vivaldi concerto,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1qNOfdMyGA&feature=youtu.be&t=3m34s) remaining in a comfortable silence. Trees lined the scenery for a generous rest of the way, along with hills and horse pastures. There was an apple farm a few minutes off of the main road where Simon always insisted they stop and greet the family that dwelled there, even when it was the middle of January and the trees were asleep sitting upright in the earth. It wasn’t unusual at this point; after they left Watford and Simon had gotten a job, Baz discovered that his boyfriend had quite the liking for plants—and it showed in the way he had five or six potted plants regularly growing in the windowsills of his apartment.

After Simon had gone in and visited the apple farmers (he was fairly acquainted with them, what with all the times he’d come by), they departed once again for Pitch manor, now with a few spare pieces of fruit on hand. The fair-headed boy had gotten his tennis shoes and the ends of his trousers covered in mud when he went outside to look at the orchard, and as Baz spelled the filth away he decided to buy Simon a pair of rain boots the next time he went to town. They’d have to be yellow, of course.

Simon had inevitably started to fall asleep in the passenger seat, his face resting in the direction of the window, like he was planning to look out of it while he slept. Before he finally drifted off, though, he nodded over to Baz.

“Hey.”

“Ah. Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

Simon yawned and shook his head. “Not for long. Just wanted … to tell ya something.”

“What?”

“I love you.” And he drowsily giggled as kissed the top of Baz’s hand. He kept doing so in such an absentminded way that the vampire wondered if kissing things really was in the boy’s nature. (Like a puppy.) It really did explain his warm, soft, stubbornly gentle personally that never left anyone feeling lonely.

Except, of course, when he fell asleep, and essentially left Baz to drive alone for the rest of the way.

That was okay, though. Baz spent a comfortable about of time daydreaming for most of the drive thereafter, most prominently about what it’d be like to see his fair-headed boyfriend spend such endless affection on the children he secretly hoped they’d raise one day.

 _Simon as a father,_ he thought. _Would he dress our sons and daughters in yellow, too?_ All the little ones that they would fall in love with at the orphanages, adopt on the spot, and take to a loving home they probably hadn’t ever known before. That would make Simon happy. And imagine the matching pairs of sunny rain boots that would line the front porch…

Baz glanced over at Simon, who was halfway snoring with his face pressed grossly against the window, the yellow jacket spread warm over his chest like a blanket. Baz’d have to clean the smudges his cheeks made off the glass later on, after they got to the house… But that was okay.

Because their hands were still intertwined, even as he slept. That made all the difference. (And when Baz thought about it, it wasn’t often that they were apart at all, much less while napping.)

Gently, Baz squeezed Simon’s fingers and smiled to himself, returning a lingering kiss to the top of his hand.

And quietly enough that he could barely hear himself whispering, he answered, “I love you, too, Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hit me up on tumblr [here!](http://takidaka.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

It was Valentine’s Day, and Simon had made a big dinner. 

He was expecting himself, Penelope, and Baz, whenever he got home from class, and had been working in the kitchen for hours; there wasn’t a single dish that he hadn’t carefully measured, cooked, and re-cooked better than before. Roasted chicken. Pasta casseroles. Vegetables steamed and baked. Raspberry and orange scones with fresh honey from the little market across town. Even the tea was brewed to the highest of recommendations and sat steeping quietly in an old kettle, suspending flagrant notes of bergamot in the air. 

“Penny, has my phone rang at all today?” Simon asked as he noticed her strolling into the kitchen around mealtime. He’d set the table, (albeit incorrectly), and was leaning against the counter, distractedly watching the door. She wandered over to the table to rearrange the utensils while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Not since I dropped Micah at the airport, and you’ve been blasting [your playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCX4_Vvgr86UUCiQsyC9tvLBPStwOjMSs) ever since,” she answered, almost dropping a ladle onto the floor. (Simon had put it out with the tea set as a sugar spoon.) “Why do you ask?”

“I haven’t heard anything from Baz yet, and I was wondering if I just didn’t hear it.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he usually home by now?”

“Yeah,” Simon replied. “His class lets out at three-thirty. He normally gets back around five, with getting his stuff together and driving over.”

But Baz was nowhere to be found. He didn’t pick up his phone when Simon texted multiple times during the rest of the afternoon, nor when he called around seven, or even when he left a voicemail at eight. It got to the point that Simon’s phone almost died from his incessant checking it, and he didn’t leave from the front of the apartment.

Around nine o’clock, Penny walked back into the kitchen, where she found Simon leaning against the sink, staring intently out the window. She knew that he couldn’t see a thing, but he still tried anyway. Then she noticed that he had donned his heavy coat, snow boots, and a pair of thick blue jeans, and seemed ready to rush out the door at any moment.

“How’re you expecting to get anywhere if he calls?” Penny asked softly, touching his shoulder.

Simon whipped around like she had startled him out of his focus. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll fly, if I have to.”

“Simon, you don’t even know how to fly—“

“I’ll damn well _learn,_ if Baz is hurt—“

Penny sighed, mentally chastising Baz for his silence. “Simon, it’s way past dinnertime. We might as well eat and not let all your hard work go to waste,” she said, folding the worn gloves that laid on the counter.

“It’s still going to waste if Baz isn’t here.”

“I know,” she answered, squeezing his arm. “But you and I are. Come on, now, we can still have a good night.”

He dejectedly looked at her, and knew she was right, despite himself.

As a result, they did so in the living room. They still left Baz’s place setting on the table, like he was only minutes late to dinner–not to mention hours. And Simon brought his phone charger out of his bedroom and plugged it into the wall beside the couch, so that his device would stay charged.

They ended up watching reruns of _The Office,_ like it was any other night, instead of watching _Pride & Prejudice_ like Simon wanted to. (Really, it was Baz who always wanted to. But he’d never admit it, so Simon always pitched the idea.) And eventually, when it was properly in the middle of the night, Penelope decided to hit the hay and stood up out of her brown recliner.

“I think it’s time for me to go to sleep, Simon,” she mumbled, arching her back. Her spine popped thrice and she winced. “It’s almost one in the morning. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I dunno.”

“Yes, you do.”

“It doesn’t _matter,_ anyway.”

Penny looked over at him.

He was tensely watching the television, unconsciously biting his nails, and formerly full glass of water barren. His fingers were so raw that it looked as if he were about to chew through his hands, and she knew that if he still had his magic about him, something would’ve already been set on fire. She knew he was anticipating the worst. (He always did.)

"Simon, go to bed. Maybe he needed to go do vampire things tonight or something. I’m sure he’d call if he were in trouble–you know that.”

The fair-headed boy looked stressfully at Penelope. A pang of pity rang out for him in her chest. 

“I’m staying up,” Simon said emphatically. “He’s got to come in eventually.”

Penny watched Simon carefully for a few seconds, then sighed, deciding not to argue. “Okay, but don’t wear yourself out. And stop biting your nails.”

He looked at his hands suddenly, surprised to find them so close to his face. “Was I doing that again?”

“Yes.” She took his palm in hers and murmured a spell. The wounds quickly ran from red to pink, and Simon pouted when bandages appeared out of the air and curled around his fingers.

When she was done, Penny sighed worriedly again and raised her eyebrows. “Anyway, good night. Come get me if you need anything.” And she kissed the top of his head, right in the fluffiest bushel of his curls–like she had every night since the last fight with the Humdrum–and shuffled in her fuzzy blue socks back to her bedroom. “And if you end up having to go out before morning, come and let me know first.”

“Why? So you can come with me?”

“Yes,” she huffed. “And I can kick Baz’s ass for doing this to you.”

So Simon sat alone for a few more hours in front of the nighttime TV, waiting for the door to creak open, or a notification on his phone. He kept it plugged into the wall where it was always charged, the ringer turned to the max volume. He started peeling the edges of the bandages and rolled them up around his nails, where he distractedly started picking at his skin again. And eventually, very late in the night, Simon inevitably drifted off, exhausted from worrying. 

When Baz finally made it home, he found his boyfriend sleeping on the couch in the living room, his cell phone poised attentively in the middle of his chest. He had his old, ragged Doc Martins pulled over his feet and his brown jacket draped across his shoulders, looking as if he’d fallen asleep ready to run out of the door.

As he quietly dropped his bags onto the floor, Baz’s guilt coiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Wake up, Simon,” he said gently, nudging his boyfriend awake, peeling off his black peacoat meanwhile.

Simon opened his eyes with a start, arms flying to grab the phone resting on top of him. “Huh? What? _Baz?”_

“Yes, love. I’m home.”

“Are you _okay?”_ Simon asked exasperatedly, grabbing at the collar of the vampire’s shirt. _“Did you get hurt?”_

“No, I’m _fine.”_ Baz took Simon’s hands carefully away from his neck. “What are you doing sleeping on the couch?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Ah.” Baz’s own hand found its way to his neck, where he rubbed the skin stressfully. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I had to make an emergency run to my father’s and I dropped my phone in a puddle when I was walking up the drive.”

“You couldn’t have called with your family’s phone?” Simon grunted, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. 

Baz looked guiltily at his feet. “Mordelia threw a fit and bothered one of the goblins in the house because it changed the clothes on her doll, and it blew out the Wi-Fi, and that’s what we usually use for everything. So there was no reception out there.“

"Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “What did your father need you for on such short notice?”

“He needed me to go hunt down this werewolf that’s been terrorizing the woods around the manor… It almost attacked my little brother this afternoon when he was outside with the dogs.”

“Vampires fighting werewolves. That seems a bit archetypical,” Simon said, smiling faintly.

Baz nodded. “Except that they’re never quite as attractive as Taylor Lautner. Which is unfortunate.” Then his eyebrows furrowed. “What in the world happened to your hands?”

“Penny caught me biting them again. I guess I was stressing out pretty badly.”

There was an awkward silence between them, with a bit of frustration still lingering within Simon–it showed in the way he was still aggressively rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His face was sore, and his head was pounding, and an eyelash had fallen so far back in his eye that the pain had him to the point of tears. 

Until he saw the [roses.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyASdjZE0R0)

Baz was holding a gigantic bouquet of yellow flowers wrapped in pink paper, a white ribbon tied around the stalk. They looked as if someone had painted them the color of candlelight. He held them out to Simon, along with a large box postmarked from Watford—and when Simon opened it, the tart scent of sour cherry hit him like a wave. Baz must have convinced Cook Prichard to send them, and that was no easy feat for a recipe of which the man was so secretive. (Simon knew that for a fact; he had tried to get it dozens of times.)

"I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day, love,” the raven-headed boy murmured, falling next to Simon on the couch. “Can we make it up tomorrow? I’m home all day. And my father felt terrible about dinner, so he got us a gift certificate to this really nice place in London. We can make a trip out of it.”

“I have work tomorrow and the next day.”

“Oh.”

Simon stared blankly at Baz for a few moments. Then a grin slowly melted across his face, and he leaned over to take the flowers, pressing a kiss into the crevice of the vampire’s neck. He could feel Baz’s skin straining—he was always so sensitive right there.

Simon relished it.

“I was looking for a reason to call in sick,” he said after a long moment, pulling his lips from Baz’s skin and making a spot for himself in the vampire’s lap. He was cold and Simon shivered to the touch. As Baz pressed himself into the couch to make room for the both of them, Simon wrapped a blankets across their jumbled legs, holding the bouquet close to his face so that he could smell it.

“Did you spell the flowers?” Simon asked quietly, looking dotingly over the golden roses.

“I did. They’ll look like that until you stop liking the person who gave them to you. It’s an affection charm.”

Simon cracked another wide smile, pressing a hand against Baz’s chest. “I guess they’ll look like that forever, then.”

Baz simpered. Simon could tell he still felt guilty, and a few hours ago he would’ve felt satisfied to let him stay that way…

… But now, with his chiseled cheekbones so close, and his unwashed hair smelling like wind and grace and home, Simon couldn’t help but let his frustration go.

After a minute of dozing off, arms around each other’s waists, Simon kissed Baz’s forehead.

“Baz.”

“Hm?”

“Tomorrow morning, could we get some butter for the scones? I used it all today.”

After a slight pause, Baz started laughing in his slow, charming way. Simon had always loved and despised it. “You used all _three_ boxes?”

“Maybe.”

Baz’s laugh had turned into a full-on giggle, and he plucked the roses from Simon’s grasp so that he could crush the bronze boy against his chest. “Crowley, I love you. Yes, we’ll get more. And I’ll have Pritchard send another box of scones.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Simon. _Anything_ for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hit me up on tumblr [here!](http://takidaka.tumblr.com/)


End file.
